Wings of Asgard
by queenmab-scherzo
Summary: Thor is too young still for Mjolnir, but that doesn't mean he isn't worthy of a precious gift from his father. No one notices that Loki might be jealous. Pre-movie.


Summary: Thor is too young still for Mjolnir, but that doesn't mean he isn't worthy of a precious gift.

AN: I am just another sucker for sexy angsty Loki, but this story is tame, bittersweet, and an excuse for me to fixate on those brilliant HELMETS. It could fit the movie or comics; I'll go w/ Movieverse, just so we can all picture in our minds the lovely Chris Hemsworth, Tom Hiddleston, and Anthony Hopkins.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and headgear belong to Marvel.

"What do you think, brother? Does it do me justice? Does it make me look even more handsome and powerful and courageous than I already am?"

"As handsome and powerful as _you_? Ah—do not do it a disservice, now."

"What?"

Loki's eyes swept his brother's headpiece in appraisal, his face a mask of concentration. "On second thought, perhaps it hides just enough of your face that—yes, a definite improvement."

"…A-ha! Aren't you _clever_!" Thor sneered, with a playful shove for emphasis. "I knew you were joking!"

The smaller brother stumbled against the balcony rail, grinned, and raised a hand in surrender. "Yes, never could fool you," he laughed, rolling his eyes.

Thor deftly removed his helm and held it aloft where it gleamed in the light of the sunset. Loki winced and ducked his gaze when the reflection stabbed at his eyes. A small scoff of annoyance escaped his throat.

"I think it's perfect," Thor concluded, oblivious of the inconvenience. "May all my enemies recognize me from this day forth! In battle I will be both worshipped and feared! No longer will I be one in the crowd of common soldiers, but the one and only, the Mighty Thor!"

Loki sighed softly, knowing his brother meant no slight. The younger brother, of course, would still wear the garb of another "common soldier". Still smiling, he squinted up at the shining headwear. "They won't recognize anything if they're blinded first, you know."

Thor laughed and apologized, stowing his new prize beneath an arm and turning back to the torch-lit room. His face lit up when he noticed Odin smiling proudly in the doorway. The All-Father strode into the room and greeted his sons amiably.

"Father! My—my sincerest thanks! It's perfect, it's… there are not words! No prince has ever received such a…perfect…coming-of-age gift!"

Loki snorted and shook his head. How fortunate that Thor was such a skilled warrior.

"Well, my son, perhaps no prince has ever been so worthy of such an impressive award." Odin turned, and seemed to notice Loki for the first time. "And to think! In just three years, an equally worthy prince will come of age!" There was a twinkle of pride in his good eye.

"I would be honored, Father. I am undeserving," he replied, inclining his head humbly. But Odin had already shifted his attention back to Thor.

Loki smiled patiently as Thor repeated the past hour's conversation with their father. As always, he seemed to shrink with his father and brother together in the room. Odin's immense, distinguished majesty and Thor's brazen self-confidence were rather stifling. Between them Loki felt small and insignificant.

It was amusing, though, to listen while Thor adjusted his speech for their father's sake. With just Loki in the room, he had prattled on like the enthusiastic fool he was, but now he stumbled over words, searching for the most appropriate and dignified terms.

Loki quickly lost interest in the wooden, overly formal and sentimental conversation, and his gaze wandered to the helmet, the object of such heated discussion. He liked it. The wings were striking and so fitting for a god inclined to weather and the sky.

At this, Loki began to ponder. What was his inclination? He was a relatively skilled falconer; would he receive the same winged headpiece? They were both princes, supposedly equal, so it would be practical (albeit unimaginative) for them to match. Still, that wouldn't even address his greatest interests. But how might a smith forge magic out of metal?

"…right, Loki?"

His eyes widened and darted up to Thor's. "It's … magnificent," he said tentatively, smiling and nodding with approval. He held his breath.

The other two men beamed; apparently Loki's reply had been appropriate, but the other two had eyes only for each other. Odin gripped his elder son's shoulder and patted it roughly but appreciatively. "Thor," he said simply. He paused, a tear in his eye. Loki raised an eyebrow. Odin continued, his voice breaking, "you do make a father so proud."

He swept from the room, and seemed to suck out half the air and half the light. Thor was staring deeply into the space where his helmet's eyes might be, caressing it gently. Loki felt awkward and exposed, as though he had been caught eavesdropping. He shuffled his feet and cleared his throat softly.

Thor slowly broke out of his contemplation—_such as it is_, Loki thought—and looked around at his brother.

"Finally, something to mark me as the _superior_ I am among Asgard's warriors," Thor growled with an intense smile. He did not look at his younger brother for long, but returned his gaze to his new toy.

Loki's lip curled at the condescending remark. Silent seconds passed. His brow furrowed, only half expecting, or maybe half wanting, Thor to correct himself. After several minutes without response, Loki slunk from the room, muttering bitterly a farewell he would not be proud of if Thor had paid attention enough to hear it.

AN: I was extremely disappointed with the costumes...except those _helmets_. Hot _damn_.


End file.
